


Midnight Marshmallows

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Fluff, Romance, Unadulterated Sweetness Honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 09:06:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13291599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: Tumblr Prompt: Strickler seems like the perfect man - educated, chivalrous, funny, not to mention handsome. But the one thing Barbara cannot comprehend is how, with all of this working in his favor, the man has NEVER managed to learn of the brilliance that is cheap wine and homemade s'mores.





	Midnight Marshmallows

**Author's Note:**

> For Tumblr user Siffieleafy! This prompt was too sweet to ignore <3

He took a slow, measured sip and then grimaced. “You can tell it’s cheap.” 

Barbara rolled her eyes and moved her marshmallow further into the fire, slowly rotating the white fluff until it was a warm golden-brown. She might be an awful cook, but Barbara Lake knew how to make a  _damn_  good toasted marshmallow. “Have you considered you’re a snob?” 

“Only when it comes to wine, love.”

“Lies and slander, you’re a snob for all seasons and all reasons.” Barbara’s words felt thick upon her tongue, and she realized that she may have imbibed a wee bit too much. Whoops. 

Walter’s nose nuzzled further into her hair, already rumpled from the earlier upstairs rendezvous. “And you’re a woman whose marshmallow is about to be charred, Doctor Lake.” 

Barbara quickly pulled her stick out of the flame and then waved a hand. “Quick, hand me the chocolate and the graham crackers, this is the best part.” 

Walter readily obliged her, and soon Barbara was putting the finishing touches to a perfect picture of a s’more, the toasted skin of the marshmallow crackling as the white sweetness oozed forth, the chocolate melting into dreamy creamy sweetness, the graham cracker a crisp backdrop. 

She held it aloft, beholding the beauty of her work. “Perfection. Now take a bite.” 

Walter instead took another sip of the wine and rolled his eyes. “I still don’t see how this was so vitally important that you needed me to do this instead of read my latest autobiography–” 

“–because midnight marshmallows is a treasured tradition in the Lake household and I won’t have my fiancé not know what he’s getting into,” Barbara said sternly. “Especially when he confessed that he had never tasted a s’more until now!” 

“You’re acting like that’s a terrible offense!” 

“Only because it is!” A lick of chocolate fell upon her thumb and she sucked it away, holding the s’more out once more. “C’mon, you’ll love it.” 

Walter sighed and took the s’more from her, and Barbara watched with bated breath as he took the first bite, feeling strangely bittersweet. Midnight marshmallows  _had_  come from the Lake side of the family, but she had worked hard at reclaiming its sweetness for Jim, banishing the memories of his father gradual loss of interest in them by making them into a special thing for special nights, him with his hot chocolate and her with her - admittedly - cheap wine. 

And now here she was, sharing it with the man who had  _changed_  - she gave a small, rather lop-sided smile to herself - everything she knew, everything she had  _thought_  she’d known. 

And she so desperately wanted him to like it…

There was a soft hum from beside her, and Barbara’s eyes snapped back to Walter as he polished off the last crumbs of the s’more, his eyes closed. When he opened them, she felt her breath catch at the way his eyes glowed under the firelight, his smile curving. “Exceedingly sweet, but far better than the wine.” 

“Ass,” Barbara murmured, carding a hand through his hair. “See if I ever make a s’more for you again.” 

Walter pulled her closer, settling her upon his lap, her nightgown riding upon her thighs. His hand spanned one, the the flesh of his fingers warm upon her skin, and his murmur was caught on her lips. “I know of something sweeter still, darling…” 

She slid her hands up under his unbuttoned nightshirt, eliciting a small sigh of pleasure from him as her fingers spanned up his pectorals, nails scratching soft at his collarbone. “Never thought you would be a slutty drunk, Mr. Strickler…” 

“Fighting words,” he growled softly, and red gleamed at her now from his gaze. “I shall do battle, love, I warn you…” 

She smiled, pushing her nose at his. “Oh God, I hope so.”

Their kiss was lingering and languid, and he tasted of cheap wine and melted chocolate and sweet marshmallow and something else, something that only Walter tasted of, something with the purity of a smooth stone upon the tongue…

When they came up for air, she petted his hair, her fingers as soft as her whisper. “Change for me, sweetheart?” 

There’s the flash of green light that she was now familiar with, the one she has come to anticipate, to  _crave_ –

–the arms that held her are no longer flesh but stone, and claws carded through her hair, and his murmur now a growl that reverberated through her. “I doubt the wine will taste any sweeter in this form, love.” 

“I don’t care.” She petted along his arms, strokes up to his neck, careful not to knick herself on any of the knives there. “I just love to see you.” She reached a hand up to scratch at the base of one of his horns, and his head lolled, yellow eyes sinking half-way shut in sweet ecstasy. 

Suddenly between the fire and the wine and his blissed out expression, Barbara felt dizzy and warm and swoony, and knew she could only surrender to it, the feeling only he could give. She leaned her face upon his chest, the coolness of his stone a welcome relief, her words warming it when she spoke. “I love you, Walt. Everything about you, no matter what form you wanna wear.” 

There was a kiss bestowed upon the crown of her head, one that let her feel the press of his fangs, the weight of his words as they rumbled over her, like a warm wave of water over the shore of her being. “And I you, darling.” 

He paused again and then rumbled out a laugh. “Your love of cheap wine be damned.”   


End file.
